May come as a surprise (or not, since I've been pretty open about my love of Bolivian marching powder), but I don't really smoke weed. Don't get me wrong--I started smoking it when I was 9, I think I was high every day from 14-28, and selling it paid my college tuition. I have nothing against weed. But I stopped before law school and revisit it just every blue moon.
Washington legalizes it and suddenly, it's everywhere--in public, in your face. Every once in a while I smoke it. The problem is this: "WHAT THE #### DID I JUST SMOKE?"
When I was younger (so much younger than today), I knew what I was getting. You're passing around a joint at a concert, you aren't dipping into your stash of your buddy's third generation bubble gum from Mendocino. It's something cheap. It's mellow. It's good for a show. You probably rolled it in the parking lot with a paper you bummed from a stranger.
Now, you go to a show and there are pre-rolleds being passed up and down the row at all times. Eventually, it seems like a good idea to play Russian roulette and take a couple hits. Suddenly thanks, Friday night at Pearl Jam. It was nice knowing you. What the hell? Who needs to be that high? That's not a concert high. That's ####### go out into Joshua Tree and try to figure out how to levitate high.
But Immortality was insane.
Now get off my lawn.